


Dare To Hope

by TheHufflebean (SevralShips)



Series: Snape Dies In the Prank AU [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Bottom Sirius Black, M/M, Miscommunication, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt, Top Remus Lupin, life after the war isn't all sunshine, make-up sex, or having a realistic sense of themselves, spoiler it's all the Trauma (tm), these idiots are still not great at communicating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevralShips/pseuds/TheHufflebean
Summary: So, maybe happily ever after isn't shaping up to be exactly what Remus or Sirius expected it to look like.(Set 7 months after the end of 'The Other Side of Sorrow' and contains spoilers for the fics before this one in this AU series!)
Relationships: Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Snape Dies In the Prank AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1302740
Comments: 3
Kudos: 69





	Dare To Hope

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a dummy and forgot to post this fic for almost a year!
> 
> Enjoy!

_16 March, 1980_

To Remus’ delight, they had served cherry tarts at dessert. The confection had never been a particular favorite of his own, actually, his weakness always lying more in the warming syrupy realm of chocolate and treacle and toffee, but as far back as he could recall they had been Sirius’ ultimate weakness. Those made by the Hogwarts House-Elves couldn’t dream of competing with the ones Prongs’ mum used to make ‘round Christmas time, but they were a close runner-up. Beside Remus at the Head Table, Lily had smiled knowingly as she’d watched Remus pile a half dozen of them into a napkin, neatly closing the parcel and casting a wandless warming charm over it. Her green eyes had glittered with tears and she’d swiped them away, impatiently, muttering about how pregnancy was making her a ‘bloody sentimental sack of hormones’.

It sort of _was_ , truth be told, though Remus valued his own continued survival too much to ever say so aloud to her. If anything, he found it endearing. There were only a few months remaining until the arrival of the Prongslet, and as always, the thought glowed warmly behind Remus’ ribs. He was eager for it, for Lily’s sake, naturally, who was beyond weary of not only the spike of her hormones but of steering her ever-growing belly around the castle. But mostly, he just could hardly wait to meet the kid. He wasn’t as boisterous in his anticipation as Sirius, who true to his inner dog, grinned wide enough to surely hurt himself any time the topic came up, but Remus wasn’t given to fits of boisterousness, even at his happiest.

 _And I_ am _at my happiest,_ he reminded himself sternly as his feet carried him off of Hogsmeade’s high street and onto the ludicrously cozy little road he’d come to call home. _Tansy Lane,_ even its name seemed twee and tame. A silly place, really, for him and Sirius to live, if you were to consider their track record. The last purplish light made each little storefront and cottage look even sweeter, the flowers and healing herbs in the window-boxes like pretty little dollhouse bouquets of tissue paper, the smoke puffing from a couple chimneys like lilac candy floss. Perfect, safe, domestic.

It should have been, really. All of that and then some, a dream come true. Sometimes, Remus would be curled up on a lazy morning with Earl Grey steam wreathing his face and Sirius under his arm, clad in nothing but a sweater he had swiped from Remus’ drawer and frowning over a baffling crossword clue in the _Sunday Prophet_ , and he would feel that he _simply must_ be dreaming. It would hit him like a splotch of ink on wet parchment, spreading dilute grey tendrils through him and making him wonder what the last _real_ thing had been, how long he had been dreaming. It would make him clench his teeth and brace himself for the inevitable and horrible, waking up in his dingy old bedsit or the Shrieking Shack or worst of all, in Greyback’s cave. Sometimes Sirius didn’t notice, too absorbed in ruling out six-letter words, but other times, most times, he sensed the shift in Remus’ posture, dropped the newspaper and would hold Remus’ face between his palms, babbling encouraging facts until Remus was convinced that he was really where he seemed to be.

It wasn’t as though Remus had expected ‘ _happily ever after_ ’ to be simple. Quite on the contrary, it was more that he hadn’t expected it at all, to any degree. It was more than he could have dared imagine if he even _sometimes_ could have those pockets of domestic bliss, even if his brain was determined to make him doubt them on occasion. _Even if they are growing more and more rare,_ that same prat of a brain chimed in.

They weren’t. They weren’t getting more rare, he insisted to himself. Sure, some evenings when he returned from the castle after a long day of teaching, Sirius didn’t greet him at the door, overflowing with canine glee. Sure, some days when Remus talked about his students, Sirius’ eyes took on a distant, glazed sort of look and it was obvious that he wasn’t really listening. But that was bound to happen, wasn’t it? They had been here seven months, it must be normal for the newlywed sort of high of it to give way to something more subdued.

Only it didn’t quite seem like that, not to Remus, though admittedly he wasn’t exactly any sort of relationship expert. Still, he had to figure that a natural settling-in, cooling-off of that sort couldn’t explain the way that his birthday — his _twentieth_ birthday, a significant one — a few days before would have been allowed to pass without ceremony. Or it would have, had James and Lily not stumbled out of the floo with a (only slightly ash-dusted) chocolate cake. Remus hadn’t missed the infinitesimal way Sirius’ eyes had widened in surprise before he’d covered it up, as though he’d been in on it all along. And a couple of other times, Remus had detected, when Sirius had been folded up with a book or a crossword or considering the album notes as a record spun away on the turntable, that he hadn’t been reading at all, his eyes not sliding along rows of text but staring, unseeing, ahead. Just as on Remus’ birthday, though, Sirius had covered up these lapses when he noticed Remus’ gaze, smiling blithely and cracking a joke, a couple times reaching to undo Remus’ belt, and Remus had pretended not to notice and allowed himself to be misdirected.

 _It’s nothing,_ Remus told himself, as the gaslights along Tansy Lane sprang to life as he walked through the gathering dark, _it’s nothing to worry about._ After all, Sirius had fought a war, too, Sirius had lied and spied and grieved, too. If Remus had the right to his moments of believing this all to be a dream, surely Sirius had the right to his distraction. Happily ever after being imperfect didn’t only apply to _his_ brain’s stubborn inability to accept happiness, but surely to his boyfriend’s as well. _It would be terribly unfair of me to hoard all the trauma for myself,_ he reminded himself sternly _._

Remus shooed his worries aside as their building came into view, the Gryffindor-red door like a splash of warmth in the spring night chill that was trying to creep down under the collar of his cloak. The warm, new cloak Sirius had insisted on him having, along with boots, and mugs that matched, and books, and entirely too many things, more new things than he’d ever had in his possession at once. Sirius wanted him to be warm, he reminded himself, wanted him to have things that would bring him safety or happiness. _That_ was love, one of the many ways it could look, and love was the most important thing in this weird, strained sort of home they’d carved out on bloody quaint Tansy Lane.

The first crocuses had popped up by their door in the last few days, achingly white and hopeful. As always they reminded Remus of his mother, of the optimism with which she’d always begin planning her garden once the first crocuses had bravely dared to grow. They had tucked in their petals now, in anticipation of the coming night, and Remus was careful not to tread on them as he ascended the three steps to their front door, one hand holding the warm parcel of tarts while the other turned the doorknob, a tendril of wandless magic engaging the lock. Even with all his fretful thoughts, his heart leapt at the prospect of Sirius within, _his_ , waiting for him.

The door opened without difficulty, but Remus still had the sense of walking face-first into a wall. The recklessly hopeful smile slid off his face as the all-consuming-ness of Sirius’ sour mood surrounded him. He’d always been like this, his feelings big enough to fill a space, crowding everyone else’s feelings into the cramped little spaces beneath beds and behind wardrobes. It used to happen in the dorm at school, himself and Peter exchanging looks of quiet discomfort, James only ever really knowing what to say that wouldn’t make it worse.

This was truly _big_ , though, a great big mass of sullenness, “Padfoot?” Remus called, concern sparking readily in his chest. There was no answer as he hung his cloak from one of the hooks by the door and toed off his shoes. A less experienced wrangler of Sirius Black that himself might have taken the silence as a sign that the house was empty, or perhaps even that the worst had happened, but there was no way, not with the air thick like this with discontent. Not to mention the sound of creaking coming from the floorboards in their bedroom upstairs.

Remus took the stairs two at a time, trying in vain not to let his fears get ahead of him, reminding himself with force that Sirius _had_ to be okay, “Sirius?” he called again, hearing the almost-hitch of almost-panic in his voice. The creaking noise stopped.

“I’m in here,” Sirius said, pointlessly, at the same moment that Remus threw open their bedroom door. He had obviously been pacing, standing halfway between their bed and the window. It was dark in the room, so it stood to reason that he had been pacing since it was full light. His shoulders were tense, his hair a little wild, as if he’d been dragging his hands through it, but he appeared unharmed.

“Alright?” Remus asked, a little shakily. Sirius shrugged noncommittally, looking out the window and looking a little surprised to discover that night had fallen. Remus walked in and seated himself on the edge of their bed, “Sirius, what’s going on?”

“Who said _anything’s_ going on?” Sirius bit out, his voice sharp and aimlessly defensive. Well, that was obviously bullshit. Remus’ eyes raked over Sirius, as if the explanation would be written helpfully on a sign around his neck. He noticed Sirius was wearing fine robes, some bluish or greenish color that was hard to identify in the dim of the bedroom. Not quite dress robes, but nicer by half than anything he normally wore around the house, when he deigned to put on clothes at all. He tended to favor Muggle clothing anyway, and only really dressed like that for one purpose; even now, it tended to set his brother more at ease.

“Did something happen with Regulus?” Remus asked, keeping his tone conversational and unaccusing. Their relationship had come a long way, but it still wouldn’t do to antagonize about a complicated subject.

He got his answer before Sirius said a thing, in the way Sirius threw up his hands, as if they were rigged like a mouse trap, “Nothing new!” he exclaimed, “He’s a self-involved little twat, I don’t know why I’m surprised!”

Remus resisted the urge to point out that that criticism was frankly a bit rich coming from Sirius Black, of all people, and instead asked evenly, “Right, then, go on. Tell us what happened.”

“Oh, wait till I tell you, you’ll see it right,” he smiled but it wasn’t very friendly, just a cold flash of the gas streetlamps outside glinting off his teeth, “So I’m over at theirs,” he began. _Theirs_ referred, as the case happened to be, to Sirius’ old flat, which was occupied now by Regulus and informally, by Dorcas Meadowes. Of all the war’s unlikely outcomes, that one had to be one of the strangest, “And Reg and I, we’re working on the book,” _The book_ referred, as the case happened to be, to the ungainly behemoth of a project the Black brothers had undertaken a few months previous. The goal, as he understood it, was to discredit the myth of blood purity and write a sort of exposé- _cum_ -memoir about the inner workings of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Remus nodded, knowing now was not the time to question whether everything they intended to write could actually fit in one binding, “And we were going through old journals, you know, Uncle Pollux and Grandpa Cygnus and so on,” he had begun pacing again and Remus followed his progress back and forth across the floor, nodding when Sirius looked to him for confirmation, “And in Uncle Alphie's old journal, there's this entry about me and Reg, and Regulus took it very personally!”

“Well, what did it say?” Remus asked.

“Oh, a load of tosh, really,” Sirius said, although his voice had gone sort of strange and tight, “All about how Reg was bound to follow in our family's illustrious tradition, you know, of Dark Magic and Muggle-hating and what-have-you,” he waved his hand dismissively, turning on his heel by the wardrobe to stalk back towards the window, “And a lot of crap about how I had all this bloody _promise_ and a bright future ahead of me, blah blah!”

Remus blinked and then his eyes narrowed. He knew Sirius' Uncle Alphard had been one of the few Blacks that he had ever cared to associate with, a fellow outcast from the family's rigid, medieval preoccupations. In fact, he'd doted on Sirius, left him the very same fortune that had paid for this house on Tansy Lane and the strangely new clothes that filled the wardrobe. Remus hadn't known Alphard had been so otherwise disposed toward Sirius' brother, but it made fairly reasonable sense. But one thing didn't, “So...” Remus said, trying to avoid any of the landmines surely surrounding him in this conversation, “How exactly does that make Regulus a — what was it? — A self-involved twat?”

“Well, that wasn't the end of it!” Sirius exclaimed, as if Remus were jumping to conclusions, “We quarreled after, when he got shirty about it, about how he'd been this sort of lost cause, as if any of it was about him!”

Remus couldn't hold back the snort of disbelief, “Merlin, Sirius, really?” he didn't _want_ to fight, even though he'd sensed from the second that he had opened the door that Sirius was probably spoiling for it, that it was probably inevitable. Even if he didn’t relish a fight, he couldn't seem to help himself, “How is that _not_ about him?”

“What?” Sirius drew up in front of Remus, practically skidding to a halt, “It was about both of us!”

“Do you hear yourself?” Remus gave a disbelieving laugh. He knew Sirius could get hung up on himself, but this was pretty extreme, even for him, “Hypocrite, thy name is Sirius.” _Well, so much for not fighting_ , he bemoaned, as he heard the words slip from his lips, accusing lightly, but accusing all the same.

“Hypocrite?” Sirius repeated, affronted, “You think I'm being a _hypocrite_?” He laughed harshly, “Moony, it was _literally_ about _both_ of us!”

“Right, but if I've understood you, all your uncle had to say about _you_ was how bloody brilliant you were!” Remus echoed Sirius' humorless laugh.

“And a good thing, too, then, isn’t it?” Sirius said, and Remus could hear the curl of his upper lip even if he couldn't quite see it, “That Uncle Alphie died before he could see just how _wrong_ he was!”

That extinguished Remus' temper like a bucket of water. Here he'd been thinking Sirius was just being vain and obtuse, but there was something else going on entirely, “Wrong?” he repeated and shook his head as if to re-order its contents, “Padfoot, what do you mean?”

“You heard me just fine, Remus, he was dead _wrong!_ ” Sirius dragged his hands through his hair and walked back to the window, “He thought I was going to do great things or whatnot, but look at me, what am I fucking doing?”

“Do you have a fever?” Remus asked, staring at Sirius’ silhouette wide-eyed, “Have you gone temporarily mad? You—”

“Remus, it's not funny—” Sirius said to the windowpane.

“I know bloody well it's not!” Remus laughed again, at the sheer absurdity of it all, “You're being an insensitive git to your brother, firstly, and I reckon you owe him an apology,” Sirius spun around again to counter but Remus kept on talking, raising his voice a little as if that would force Sirius to see sense, “As to the other thing, have you forgotten the bit where you played a key role in defeating Voldemort and winning the war and—”

“Oh, yes,” Sirius interrupted, and something about the sardonic hollowness of his tone made Remus' words dry up on his tongue, “And thank Merlin for that, freeing me to realize my dreams of being a bored housewife by age twenty.”

The words hit Remus like a slap to the face and he reeled with it. He'd been _right_. All the warning signs, all the creeping suspicions, all the attempts to talk himself out of doubting, and as it turned out he ought to have listened to his instincts. Sirius was _bored_. A bored housewife, he'd said, and Merlin, it shouldn't hurt as much as it did to know that Sirius was disappointed, stifled, unsatisfied with the imperfect little home they'd been trying to make. Of course, it was strained and sometimes felt a bit like a farce, but then Remus had only to remind himself that he was here with _Sirius_ , that they were doing this _together_ , and then he'd be struck again by just how lucky he was, they were. It might not be grand or gratifying every moment of every day, but it was _Sirius_ he got to spend it with and that was _everything_. But it seemed that Remus’ luck had ran out, as it always, just _always_ bloody did. Just as he'd sort of deep down known that he would, since they'd crashed together in the last desperate months of war, Sirius had finally wised up to the fact that _Remus_ was not, _could not_ , be _everything_ enough for him.

But of course he had, of course he was always going to eventually. It had all been very dramatic when there was a war on and a glowing green dart of death might hit them any day, but with all that circumstantial tragical romance gone, why would Sirius ever really want _him_?

But Remus didn't say any of that, even as it blared warning sirens inside his skull. It would hurt too much to be that bare, and he couldn’t give Sirius that. Surely he had let Sirius run his hands along the raw nerve of him enough, he didn’t owe it to him now that it had finally come to this. Instead, he just said dryly, “A bored housewife, really?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Sirius said, sounding anything but apologetic, “Go on and tell me, Saint Lupin, how bloody ungrateful I am in the face of all your habitual self-sacrifice.”

“Sounds like you already know,” Remus said, but he didn't manage to keep the stung, petty slant from his tone — was being here with him really bad enough to bring martyrdom into it? — as he added, “But since you asked so nicely, yeah, you sound like an ungrateful arse.”

“It's not _fair_ ,” Sirius whined, sounding about fifteen years old again, and _that_ Remus just couldn't take.

“Merlin, Sirius, don't fucking talk to _me_ about _fair_ , alright?” Remus spat, as fast as he could think the words, “Life isn't bloody fair, in case you hadn't noticed!”

“You don't get it! You, or Vix, or Prongs!” Sirius shouted, and hearing Lily and James pulled into this surprised him, “You all've just fallen into your dream professions, fallen into new lives that make, just, _any_ bloody sense and I've got a whole lot of _nothing!_ ”

_Nothing._

So that's what he amounted to, then. Compared up against playing Quidditch or teaching at Hogwarts, being in love was apparently _nothing._ But, then, he reminded himself, if they were having this conversation at all, that must be proof enough that they were not in love at all. Remus went to cross his arms over his chest, as if that would protect his heart from the jagged shattering it was threatening with every beat, only to realize the stupid parcel of cherry tarts was still in his hand. He dropped them on the bed and thought it was a stupidly symbolic thing to watch them lay there, unwanted in the bed they'd shared, right where he'd been foolish enough to imagine his own love and desire mirrored back at him. His eyes prickled and he looked at the muzzy night shadows on the wall, less painful than looking anywhere else. His voice was cold as he said, just to say something, “So get a job then, if that's what you want.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment, like a spider slinging its long silver web, entrapping them both along with the things they'd said. Remus realized, with an almost-sob of a breath that he managed to keep quiet, that this might really be _it_ , the end of this beautiful stupid charade at domestic bliss, this stupid almost-happy ending. His short life had been made so excruciatingly long with pining after Sirius, and he nearly couldn't imagine his life without it. He wouldn't have to go back to how he'd been before, at least. There was no war effort to spy for, and he could live in the comfortable quarters at Hogwarts set aside for the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He wouldn't have to go through the moons without Wolfsbane, and he might still have Prongs' company sometimes. It was cold, cold bloody comfort as his soul wailed with the thought of all the empty, aching absences Sirius would leave.

“I... don't just want _a_ job,” Sirius said, his voice making Remus jump as it cut through the strained silence, “Not, not just any old job. I mean, I...”

Sirius let the sentence dangle unfinished, and finally Remus couldn't stand not knowing, couldn't stand the silence overtaking them again, “What?” he pressed, his voice flat, “Was there a particular job you wanted?”

For an absurd, really almost laughable moment, Remus though Sirius was going to tell him that he fancied the position of Defense instructor at Hogwarts, that Remus was going to be unable to refuse as Sirius took everything else from him. But of course that wasn't it. And what it was wasn't funny, not even in the most distant sense, “I want to become an Auror.”

Had Remus been standing, surely his legs would have given way, surely he would have collapsed to sit, numb, on the bed they had shared only the night before. As it was, his brain sort of stalled, like the car his mum had had when he was growing up, and his uneven heartbeat rattled in his ears like the old engine struggling to turn over. He realized Sirius was talking again and with great force made himself follow the words, “...mort gone, there's still plenty of evil out there. And so many of his bloody Death Eaters haven't been caught, and, and I could probably actually _help!_ I mean, I spent the last couple years rubbing elbows with the whole stinking lot of them! I probably know things the Ministry doesn't, I could—”

“Right, so go inform the bloody Ministry, then,” Remus heard himself say, a little surprised through his numbness by the anger in his voice. Then the numbness fell away and he was back in himself again, buoyed up by the fury, and just under it the wild desperation to keep Sirius _safe_ , “Floo Moody if you've got information, Christ, Sirius, _fine_ , but can't you ever let someone else have the glory?!” Sirius had lit the candles, Remus realized, unsure when, having been lost in the jumble of his own shock.

Sirius looked beautiful in the candlelight — as he always bloody did, damn him, by candlelight, by sunlight, by wandlight, he probably would even have the gall to look beautiful under _fluorescent_ light — but his face was distorted, his mouth open but chin jutted forward a bit, as if Remus' words were woundingly offensive to him. Remus didn't care, he had gotten to his feet, at some point and the words were still flying from his lips, “You just _fucking can't!_ Be an Auror, are you barking _mad?_ We're only, only _just finally_ safe and you're that fucking eager to rush at the wrong end of someone's wand?!” He made a sound that was part incredulous laugh, part sob, close enough to Sirius now that he gave his chest a childish shove with both hands, “Listen, I _know_ you're a bloody adrenaline junkie, alright? I know you get restless if you go a couple weeks without doing something idiotic, trust me, I _remember_ ,” he didn't need to be specific, the guilty flash in Sirius' eyes, more taupe than grey in the candlelight, indicated that the low blow had landed as intended, “And if you're bored with all this domestic shite, if you're bored with me, I get it and it's — it's _fine_ , okay, but _you cannot go get yourself killed!_ ” his voice had grown shrill and he reined it in, lowering it to nearly a normal tone, forcing himself to turn away before he hit Sirius and made himself the hypocrite, “You just can't.”

“Who ever said anything about being bored with you?” Sirius laughed, in a way that was sort of warm and didn't fit the tense atmosphere at all, “That's rich, Moony. Honestly, this isn’t about you.”

Sirius could be cruel, but that was uncalled for. Remus' eyes stung and he squeezed them shut, feeling a tear escape down his cheek. He clenched his jaw, refusing to let Sirius know he'd made him cry, “Come off it,” he managed between gritted teeth.

“Remus—” Sirius sounded concerned, and frankly, he had a lot of bloody nerve being concerned when he was the one who had pulled the rug out from underneath them.

“You said it yourself!” Remus interrupted, facing Sirius again, composure and pride be damned. If this was it, if they were having it out, they might as well say what they thought, “And I-I know it anyway! Bloody crosswords and milky tea and,” he rolled his eyes, “This stupid, cutesy, fucking street? Housewife, indeed, of c-course you don't bloody want this!”

“Even if I don't,” Sirius said, and the admission stung Remus more than it should, “That doesn't mean I don't want you, you idiot—”

“But this _is_ me, you know!” Remus scrubbed his face impatiently, “Or have you forgotten school?” he sniffled and felt pathetic, “I know that this was all very dramatic when we were saving the world and I was your long-lost monster schoolboy crush, but I'm really rather quite dull when you get right down to it!”

“You're... really not,” Sirius said, as if it was the maddest thing he'd ever heard. Then he was in front of Remus, his hands landing on his shoulders so that he felt compelled to look at him. Sirius looked more concerned than angry now, smooth high brow creased with worry, but something smoldered righteously in his eyes, “And you are _not_ a monster, dammit,” Remus rolled his eyes away from Sirius, _not that again_ , but then one of Sirius' hands was on the side of his neck, pressing his jaw so that he faced him again, “And please, don't,” Sirius' voice actually cracked here, “Don't _ever_ belittle what we have into, into just some wartime fling, or, or some misguided childhood sweetheart crap,” he leaned his forehead against Remus' and Remus' lips tingled with his breath as he declared softly, “You're the love of my bloody life, you wanker. Got it?” His eyes searched Sirius’ and they were molten with feeling, imploring, achingly honest and dammit, he was nodding and believing him and the tears on his cheeks were tears of relief. Sirius brushed one away with his thumb before kissing the wet trail it had left, and tugging Remus into an embrace.

Remus clung to him, letting himself cry as it sank in that he'd misread the situation, that his own fears had slipped in to poison Sirius' words. He felt a bit stupid, for jumping to conclusions. He kissed Sirius' jaw, where his lips could reach and he felt Sirius smile. He let himself be guided to the bed where they sat. Remus looked down at Sirius' hands, long-fingered and graceful and unscarred, the fingers of a pianist or a duellist. _He'd be good at it_ , he admitted to himself, especially if he could get past his issues with respecting authority. Digging up some kernel of Gryffindor courage, Remus lifted his eyes to Sirius', “An Auror?” he asked.

Sirius gave something between a grimace and a smile, “I know I might be a little bit of an adrenaline junkie,” Remus raised an eyebrow and Sirius laughed, “But, truly, that's not _why_ I'd want to do it. I,” he hesitated and then said, simply, “I want to make the world a better place. As crap as it was, I did feel like I was doing that with the Order. And honestly, that's why I want to write this stupid book, too, even if my brother's impossible,” Remus didn't comment, letting Sirius go on, “You and Lily, you get to do it, you know, by teaching, and I _miss_ it. Having that purpose. I want to make the world better, for, for werewolves and for your students and for Muggles, and for the little Prongslet,” he grinned, that particular godfather-grin he got at any mention of his godchild-to-be, “I know you must think I'm crazy for wanting to keep fighting, but I'm not like you. I actually like all the crosswords and milky tea and all that, but it can't be my whole life, and as much as I love you,” at this he pressed Remus' hands tightly, “and I love you a bloody _lot_ , Moony, I... I can't just sit at home being a good little doggie, it'll kill me a lot faster than fighting ever would.”

Remus studied his face, the heart-wrenching symmetry of it, the doglike adoration in his eyes, the beseeching curl of his mouth as he chewed his lip, impatient for a verdict. Remus laughed, shaking his head, “Well, I always knew you were crazy, why would that change now?” Sirius' eyebrows shot up, just a tiny bit, daring to hope, “I never would have asked that of you, you know, being my housewife or, or dog or what-have-you. I hope you know that. I know it would drive you crazy. Or, er, crazier.”

Sirius gave a halfway smile, the same one that had been twining Remus' small intestine into complex knots since he was fourteen, “Is that your way of giving your blessing?”

Remus considered it. The twisting in his gut shifted from being caused by Sirius' smile to being caused by the thought of Sirius being back in harm's way. To his surprise, though, there was also a proud sort of something in the vicinity of his heart, expanding behind his ribs. Sirius could be insufferable, insensitive, self-involved, all of that and more, yes, but he could also be so breathtakingly brave, so good when it counted most. Of course writing a book wouldn’t be enough saving the world for him. Remus canted his head to one side a little, “I... I'm not your keeper, Sirius. If you want to do this, you don't need my permission.”

“If it'll hurt you, then I don't want it.” Sirius said, as if everything were that simple and concise.

Remus snorted a laugh, “Well, I'm going to worry about you, yeah, I reckon the rest of my hair will turn grey in the first couple of months,” Remus leaned forward, kissing the tip of his nose and not caring if it was ill-befitting in such a serious moment, “You have my blessing.”

Sirius beamed so bright he seemed to dim the candles, “Really?”

“It scares me shitless,” Remus admitted, pecking Sirius on the lips, “But to tell you the truth, you've been scaring me shitless since you were eleven years old.”

Sirius' grin curled mischievously at the corners, “Is that so?” he asked leadingly.

“Oh, yes,” Remus said, unable to resist kissing that tempting shadow the smile made at the left edge of Sirius' lips, “You were all angry elegance and elbows, what emotionally stunted little werewolf wouldn't have been afraid of you?”

Sirius seemed to like that answer, judging by the way he crawled over to straddle Remus' lap, more graceful than anyone had any right being, crawling on a bed in dress robes. His arms looped around Remus' neck and he kissed him, more thoroughly this time, the slow slide of red lips and the languid curl of his tongue lighting that familiar fire in Remus’ veins. When he broke the kiss, Sirius let his wet lips rest against Remus' and whispered, “What about now? Do I still scare you?”

Remus laughed, breathy and hoarse, his arms wrapping tight around Sirius' waist as he fell back onto the bed, dragging him along, “Yes, and no,” he replied and Sirius raised one eyebrow, looking positively scandalized, but Remus went on, “Yes,” he said, sucking on Sirius' bottom lip before nuzzling the tip of his nose tenderly against Sirius' cheek, “Because you know me inside and out, and you could bloody devastate me with just a look and I doubt I’d ever recover. Because losing you would undo me. Because I'm not in the habit of needing anyone, but I need you, and that's frankly terrifying.” Sirius made a sympathetic sound in his throat, leaning down and kissing non-verbal reassurance into Remus' mouth.

Remus savored the sweetness of the kiss for a moment before tearing their lips apart, leaning up to trail his open mouth along Sirius jaw, the hitch in Sirius’ breath dragging on the familiar tug of arousal low in his belly, “And no,” he whispered, feeling Sirius shiver under his breath, raking his teeth along the exquisite sensitivity of Sirius' ear, “You don't scare me anymore, because I know we both know you're mine,” Sirius made a sublime sort of gasp as Remus' tongue flicked out to curl around his earlobe for barely an instant, “Aren't you, love?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sirius breathed, and it seemed to fill Remus' lungs just to hear it. If only every inhale for the rest of his life could taste the way Sirius said yes. “I'm yours,” he leaned up a little to pin Remus with a look that was likely meant to be commanding, though the soft wet shadows of his eyes and the wine-dark flush of his cheeks hurt the effect a bit, “Why do you need me to tell you, then, if you know it so well, hm?” he challenged.

Remus flipped them over, watching in delight as Sirius' eyes widened with lust just at being beneath him, “Maybe I just like the way it sounds.”

Sirius smiled at him, a bit sideways and blurry and altogether perfect, “I'm yours,” he repeated, at once conspiratorial and smug and so bloody sweet and it was so wonderfully _him_ to somehow fit all of that in only two syllables. Remus grinned unrestrainedly and captured his mouth in another kiss, and everything beyond their little pocket of candlelight seemed to dissipate, the whole world shrinking down to fit into the geometry of their long limbs, the smudge of their bruising lips, nothing existing beyond the piles of their clothes, forming a circle round the bed.

It was not the frantic hearts-bleeding-in-their-mouths thing it had been in the beginning. One of the most underrated things about peace, Remus had decided, was the lack of urgency, the stakes and scales of everything realigned. It meant that Remus could go home after a day’s work and take his sweet time fucking his boyfriend just as thoroughly as he pleased, and the only repercussions would be the soreness of his thighs as he stood in front of his classroom tomorrow and the sheaf of fourth-year essays that would go another day un-graded. All of that was future-Remus’ problem, as present-Remus pressed two fingers to Sirius’ lips and let him suck them in, transfixed by the red softness of his lips and the wet-tight press of his tongue and hollowed cheeks. One of Sirius’ hands was linked with his, pressed to the mattress to the left of his head, but the other lifted to circle Remus’ wrist, the fingers trailing elegant blazing trails down his arm and leaving goosebumps in their wake. His eyes, the same lambent grey as the sun through a storm, held Remus’ gaze promise-tight.

When those same fingers pressed into Sirius, the silk-heat of his arse at once the same as his mouth and so very different, lashes black as a raven’s wing fluttered shut over his eyes. The shadows moved across his face, hypnotic, the pleasure, the want, the burn, the devotion, a hundred other things too fleeting or too private for Remus to name. He watched with awe, as if it were the first time, the way Sirius stretched to accommodate him, the way he rolled his hips in a plea for more. He muttered something, words thin between his lips and Remus’ hand stilled, looking back to Sirius’ face for some signal that the meaning of those unheard words might boil down to ‘ _stop_ ’, “What?” he asked, his own voice hoarse.

“‘M’yours,” Sirius repeated, eyes opening just barely, his lips curling into a blur of a smile, “Moony, don’t stop, please, I’m yours.”

Remus didn’t need to be told twice, scissoring his fingers apart in Sirius, relishing the soft moan of appreciation. His heart thrummed, the pulse in his fingers and his cock echoing the rhythm. He would never in a million lives get tired of the way Sirius said _please_ , “Damn right you are,” he said, the tone a bit too soft to match the insistence of his words, the unsure forever-fourteen-years-old part at the heart of him going gooey at any affirmation.

“Well, then why aren’t you shagging me yet?” Remus laughed, loud and awkward with surprise, wondering how Sirius with his flushed cheeks and his devilish smirk could still surprise him like that.

“If you insist, you slag,” Remus said, half-teasing and trying to sound sexy or imposing or debonair but fairly sure he’d failed. But all of him didn’t care, because Sirius was wrapping his legs around his hips and pulling him closer, leering like the cat who got the cream, and electricity was coursing down his spine to curl his toes when their aching flesh bumped together, and because, thank Merlin, they’d been foolish enough to fall in love in a world full of danger.

He couldn’t seem to keep from grinning, not when he entered Sirius, not when they moved together like a wave, current and undertow entwined. He grinned into Sirius’ hair as fingernails raked his back, as heels pressed his arse, as Sirius babbled against his throat, “Oh, buggering fuck, Re-emus.”

“That’s correct,” he said, Sirius’ almost-laugh-snort cool against the sweat on his collarbone, “Ten points to Gryff—” Sirius’ hand on the back of his skull pulled him firmly into a kiss, but he could feel the reflection of his own smile there, their shared symmetry.

When Remus’ hand strayed between their bellies, just the bare graze of it was enough to make Sirius’ head roll back on the pillows, breaking their kiss as a string of half-spoken pleas unspooled like poetry from his lips. Remus tasted the salt of his perfect skin as he kissed along his jaw, his neck, the unfathomable grace of his shoulder, the articulate nonsense of Sirius’ voice sounding to him like a prayer. His hips never slowed, burying himself in the heady heat of the body beneath him, as Sirius arched off the mattress to thrust into the loose circle of Remus’ hand, “Please,” Sirius begged, breathless, that word taking place of all the others, “Please, oh, fuck, Moony, _please!_ ”

“Sirius,” Remus kissed and bit the name into his skin as his orgasm threatened to sneak up on him, Sirius’ begging always destined to be his undoing. He tightened his hand around Sirius, dragging his grip through the slick pre-cum to the root and twisting just so on the way up.

“Oh-oh- _oh-fuck_ -Remus—!” he’d hardly pumped his hand twice when Sirius was _there._ There — splashing on Remus’ hand, on their stomachs — grey eyes wide and glassy, throat working as if singing in silence, muscles straining and squeezing. There, where everything went white with pleasure, where everything balanced on a tremble of nerves like firecrackers, where for a few seconds it felt like one both shrank to a pinprick of pleasure and expanded to encompass the universe. _And I brought him there_. It was that thought, along with the fluttering squeeze of Sirius around him, that had Remus following Sirius in his own unraveling.

When _there_ began to give way back into _here_ , into their bedroom where most of the candles had guttered out and one corner of the fitted sheet had come un-tucked, Remus and Sirius were curled on their sides face to face, two parentheses curled around their love nestled in the space between them. Remus’ eyes came into focus, finding the way Sirius’ fingers were weaving between his own, some ancient kind of magic in the air that had nothing to do with spells or potions. His eyes flicked up, finding Sirius’, and they locked together, brown to grey. Slowly, at first, Sirius began to smile and then he laughed. Remus’ smiled back, lacing his fingers with Sirius’ and squeezing, “Care to share with the class?” he asked.

“You just look so bloody serious,” he said, eyes scanning Remus’ features, “You get this _look_ about you, all soulful and, and _bottomless_ , like, and—” his own laugh interrupted him and he bumped his forehead against Remus’ with a light _bonk_ , eyes piercing, “You’ve a lot of nerve calling yourself bloody _dull!_ ” His voice remained jovial but the free hand that rose to cup Remus’ cheek was sincere, “You, Remus Lupin, as well as your milky tea and your unfathomable depths and your cock are the furthest thing in the world from bloody _dull_.”

“If you say so,” Remus replied, the warmth of his smile leeching into his voice.

“As a matter of fact, I do say so,” Sirius countered, inanely, just shy of giggling, “In fact, I only just have said so, because I know so, and you’d best take my word for it.”

“Okay,” Remus agreed softly, and kissed him, long and gentle and unhurried as only a peacetime kiss could be.

They _vanished_ the mess they’d made, fixed the sheet, and laid back again, sinking into a comfortable silence. Remus watched the candle on the windowsill, the last still burning, as it flickered more and more erratically, running out of wick. He remembered that feeling, that desperation, trying to keep on when it seemed like the path was disappearing out from under you, like any second the melting madness around you might drown you. With an almost inaudible _pff_ it went out and Remus’ breath caught. The only thing worse, he thought, maybe, than being the one trying to outrun being consumed would be sitting at home, knowing the person who housed your entire _everything_ inside their heartbeat was out there doing it.

 _It wouldn’t be the same,_ he told himself, knowing that life for an Auror was not the same as life at war, _it_ won’t _be the same,_ he corrected. Because after all, it was happening, it wasn’t an if or a would be. Sirius would have to apply, of course, and train, there were bureaucratic hoops as always in need of jumping, but Sirius would sail through that. He was a war hero, and even aside from that, he was a brilliant Defensive wizard and usually knew the right answer to things like interview questions. There was no doubt in Remus’ mind that Sirius could do it, and do it excellently, that he could achieve whatever he wanted to. But under Remus’ ear, the slow restful thump of the muscle that pumped all that heroism through Sirius’ vivid blood, was fragile. As fragile as anyone’s for all its love and bravery and the fictitious purity of that blood, and there would be things trying to silence its courageous metronome.

“Moony,” Sirius’ voice made him jump. He’d assumed Sirius had fallen asleep but apart from a bit of muzziness to his tone, he sounded every bit as awake as Remus felt, “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

“Mmm,” Remus managed only a noncommittal hum in response.

“Thought as much,” Sirius said, his arms wrapping around Remus and drawing him in close, “Tell me, please.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Remus said, his voice small against Sirius’ chest, drinking in the beat of his heart, “If anything happened to you—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Sirius soothed, but Remus shook his head.

“You can’t know that, Pads,” he said, “And I’m not trying to talk you out of it. I just…”

“I know, Moony, I do,” Sirius’ fingers trailed calmingly through his hair, “If I lost you now, after everything, I dunno how I could — _if_ I could…” he kissed Remus’ hairline, “I know I couldn’t.”

“Yeah, but I doubt any mortal peril is going to befall me in my line of work,” Remus said with a shrug.

“Not so fast,” Sirius snorted, “Don’t you know your job’s cursed?”

Remus rolled his eyes, “Dumbledore always reckoned that was Voldemort’s work,” he said, “So I should be in the clear.”

“Moony, I’m sorry,” Sirius said, heavily, “I know, I, I should probably just grow up, get a desk job, grow old with you,” Remus felt his smile against his forehead, “And that last bit happens to sound pretty divine, but—”

“Sirius, I’m really not trying to talk you out of anything, please,” Remus lifted his head and kissed Sirius soundly on the mouth, “You’ll be a brilliant bloody Auror and I’ll get used to dating a superhero and we’ll adjust to it.”

“We _have_ been known to adjust to a lot,” Sirius conceded, hand still in Remus’ hair.

“This won’t be as hard as some of it,” Remus assured him and Sirius smiled.

They smiled at each other for a moment, barely making out each other’s outlines and the glint of each other’s teeth in the dark and then Sirius asked, “Moony, what’s a superhero?”

“Oh, you know, the blokes with the capes in the Muggle comic books,” Remus said, not managing to keep from laughing at Sirius for that.

“The ones with the masks and the pantyhose?” Even without seeing it, Remus knew just where Sirius’ brow had creased.

“Well, they also had magic powers and saved the world,” Remus defended, even if he’d personally never been more than ambivalent to Muggle superheroes, himself.

“Hm,” Sirius said, thoughtfully, “Well, I’ve got magic powers and I do fancy saving the world, but I think I’ll do it without the pantyhose.”

Remus laughed and kissed his cheek, “Shame. You’ve the physique to look bloody fit in them.”

“You’re a ponce, have I told you that lately?” Sirius countered, pecking Remus’ cheek in turn, “But if you really want, I’ll get some and wear them only for you.”

“The very spirit of generosity, you are,” Remus quipped, “And bloody well cracked.”

“You love it,” Sirius adjusted the blanket, curling around Remus, “Now stop fretting and go to sleep.”

“I love you,” Remus said, quietly and honestly to the hollow of Sirius’ collarbone.

“I love you, too,” Sirius kissed the top of his head and Remus dared to hope, to believe in the safety they had built out of a love that defied the odds. As he fell asleep, he was already looking forward to Sirius’ smile in the morning, when Remus revealed that they would be having cherry tarts for breakfast in bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so, funny story. A year ago, I was flirting with an idea for a multi-chapter OSOS sequel that dealt with Sirius being an Auror. This fic was supposed to be a sort of prequel to that storyline and when I decided not to write it, I completely forgot that this fic existed and it languished in my Google Drive for months and months! That original idea is really unlikely to ever be written at this point, but I might write a different follow-up fic at some point if the mood strikes! And if not, I think this fic serves just as well as a sort of epilogue/send-off to these boys!
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and I'm always on board to talk over [on Tumblr](https://thehufflebean.tumblr.com) if that's your thing!


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